


Balance not Symmetry

by lobstergirl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Force, Alternate Universe - Real World, Contemporary AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pro wrestling - Freeform, Real Estate setting, but it's not a wrestling fic, but there is the idea of the Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobstergirl/pseuds/lobstergirl
Summary: Armitage Hux, ambitious and successful director of portfolio management at First Order Real Estate, is facing two dilemmas. Number one, he has stumbled across something that may endanger not only his career but the future of the company he’s helped shape. Number two, FORE’s latest project is to be developed by Ben Solo, star architect, enfant terrible, and Hux’ personal nightmare.Over the course of the project, however,  both men come to grudgingly appreciate one another, despite Solo’s temper and Hux’ icy disapproval. But when they find out that not only do they share a secret but each has the key to the other’s most well-kept desire, things get complicated because it’s not wise to mix business with pleasure.Or is it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Balance not Symmetry” is a song by Biffy Clyro and it came on while I was wrecking my brain for a title. And there it was, straight from the radio and into my head. For me, ‘balance not symmetry’ is the single most perfect description for the Hux/Ren dynamic as I see it. The song itself - although pretty good - did not serve as inspiration. This is no song fic.
> 
> The city of Waidton does not exist. I invented it because I wanted to avoid dancing around existing office buildings, real estate projects and landmark properties. Let’s say it’s a mix of London/UK and Frankfurt/Germany.
> 
> The characters’ dynamics are a bit different from how they are presented in the films. I wanted to use them in a real life context, so Snoke is a ruthless businessman with little to no morals but no villain in terms of The Evil One; Hux and Phasma are friends and colleagues; Finn dislikes Hux and Phasma but doesn’t hate their guts; and neither Hux nor Ben/Ren are killers and mass murderers.

**“If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.”  
** _― Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays_

Darkness fell upon Wenfield Halls and the crowd went silent. Slowly, red light crept up from behind the curtains, subdued by artificial fog wafting across the stage and down into the auditorium. Someone coughed, someone else _shhhh’d_ them. With the first notes of his entrance music, the wrestler’s silhouette manifested, a tall, menacing figure, standing motionless for a few seconds and taking in the crowd.

The spectator sat up expectantly.

Tonight was no ordinary wrestling night. Tonight was about the heavyweight championship. It was a follow-up match of sorts because the last show (which the spectator had not been able to attend) had seen the wrestler disqualified after performing the infamous and forbidden over the rope suicide dive. But instead of simply accepting the championship belt, his challenger had - much to everybody's surprise - demanded another match so he could win the title fair and square, and the officials had granted him the favour.

So today’s match counted, and the spectator was in high spirits.

With long, measured strides the wrestler made his way to the ring, his cape billowing behind him. He didn’t run. He never did, well, he didn’t need to. His opponents appreciated the extra minutes he gave them to compose themselves, and the audience appreciated the extra minutes to take photos.

The spectator watched him walk by, all dressed in black – heavy fabric and leather instead of high-tech athletic wear –, shoulders so wide they should have an entrance theme all for themselves, features concealed by what looked like a motorcycle or even combat helmet with a silver inlay around the visor. No-one had ever seen the wrestler’s face. There were rumours about a possible disfigurement, about horrible burn scars too terrible to look at. Other rumours claimed the helmet was hiding the face of some celebrity, actor or athlete, living out his childhood dream.

The spectator didn’t care for either version, had never tried to find out about the man behind the mask. He liked the feeling of suspense, the blank canvas to project ideas on, the _what if_.

The wrestler reached the ring, reached for a rope and swung himself up and through, making it look as easy as stepping up a short flight of stairs. Inside the ring, he paused for dramatic effect, then slowly raised his arms and the light gradually came back on. With a quick move he threw off his cape, flung it carelessly aside, rolled his shoulders but otherwise remained motionless, waiting for his opponent to make the first move.

The other fighter looked him up and down, taking measure, and when the wrestler didn’t react, walked up to him until they stood nose to nose or rather, chin to visor because the challenger stood some 2 or 2.5 inches taller than the wrestler. Still, there was no visible reaction to his stepping into the wrestler’s personal space and so he moved a step back, made a rude gesture and spat out an insult, loud enough to hear for those in the front rows.

The wrestler cocked his masked head. Then, without warning sign whatsoever, the insult was answered with a hard backhand chop, the slap of the wrestler's gloved hand loud enough to make the spectator wince. The audience responded with a “whooo!”, as was the custom. The opponent stumbled back, looking down at his chest in disbelief and so missed the Mongolian chop that landed on his shoulders with the force of a sledgehammer.

The spectator nodded, satisfied. No prancing about with the wrestler, not today, not ever. This was going to be a match to remember. He knew it would be, had seen it in the brute strength with which that first blow was delivered.

The wrestler didn’t disappoint.

He wasn’t an elegant fighter who pleased his audience with sophisticated technique or elaborate aerial manoeuvres. He was brutal, and he was efficient, and the spectator enjoyed every single move that reduced the loud-mouthed opponent to a mere ring accessory for the wrestler to jump at, to big-boot and to manhandle as he saw fit.

The wrestler’s biggest influence in shaping himself into the fighter he was today had undoubtedly been the legendary Undertaker – his way of entering the arena alone showed as much. But instead of copying the Dead Man’s style, he had taken some of his signature moves and made them entirely his own, and the spectator watched with bated breath as the wrestler twisted his opponent’s arm and climbed to the top rope, exactly as the Undertaker had done countless times before him. But there the similarity ended because after two steps, he let go of the other man’s arm and kept walking until he reached the middle of the rope, casually, as if he was taking a stroll across a secured suspension bridge. There, standing on the gently swinging rope, he raised his arms, bounced once, twice and flew off the rope to floor his opponent with a massive spring board leg drop.

_Beautiful._

The spectator let out a long breath and wildly applauded. What it might say about him, this feeling of sheer joy at seeing such a display of well-executed and controlled brutality, the deep, almost physical satisfaction he felt with each flawlessly delivered move, he didn’t care. Instead, he revelled in watching the black-clad man defy the laws of gravity like he had never seen an athlete do before, not in all of the years he’d been following the sport. He never got tired of watching the wrestler do things a man of his height and weight shouldn’t be able to do, at least not with such deceptive ease. Yes, wrestling matches were arranged to a certain extent, were even choreographed in their more intricate and critical moments, not only to deliver a perfect show but to prevent the athletes getting injured. Yes, pro wrestlers were highly trained professionals, yes and yes. But the wrestler did not have the stature of a high-wire artist. He was as tall as the spectator, if not a little taller, and a lot heavier. He was usually announced to weigh in around 200 pounds, so: how did he do what he had just done? Walk the top rope without even stretching out his arms for balance? And with that helmet on, too. _Intriguing_.

The other athlete had fought his way back to his feet and stood in the middle of the ring, swaying. The wrestler stood leaning against a corner post, waiting for the man to regain his balance and only when the swaying stopped did he walk up to him and raised his left arm, thumb down, signalling he was about to end the match.

The crowd roared their approval. The spectator roared with them.

With an ease that – again! – defied gravity, the wrestler lifted his opponent up, flipped him mid-air by 180 degrees as if he was handling an acrobatically trained child and not a muscular man of at least 250 pounds. There he stood for a few seconds, holding his opponent, positioning him.

Ear-splitting shrieks accompanied his finishing move, the Undertaker’s dreaded “tombstone”, now nicknamed the “Kyle-driver”.

The opponent fell backward and lay motionless, with only his chest rising and falling. The wrestler crossed the man's arms over his chest and held him pinned down while the referee counted down.

It was over.

“The winner of this match, the new and former heavy weight champion—” the ring announcer began, paused and looked to the officials as if to wait for their approval.

The spectator frowned. They wouldn’t dare—

“Kyloooo Rrrrennnnnn!”

The ring announcer pointed to the champion who was still kneeling over his opponent but upon hearing his name announced, rose to his feet in one fluid movement, cast one last glance to the man he had defeated and walked to the corner of the ring to accept his championship belt from one of the ring officials.

Thunderous applause rose as Kylo Ren lifted the belt high above his head, slowly turning so everyone could see the belt and who was holding it. The noise from the audience was deafening. Nothing pleased a crowd more than a good show and a good, hard match. Kylo Ren had just delivered both, and he had not uttered a single word. He never spoke much, hardly ever joined the customary trash-talking in between matches and if he did, he seldom spoke more than two or three sentences with a voice that was as masked as his face, electronically modulated by some sort of vocoder inside his helmet.

The belt back around his waist where it belonged, Kylo Ren vaulted over the top rope, landed on his feet like the predator that he was and made straight for the exit. He spared not a single glance for his fans who stood pressed against the barriers, reaching as far as they could, trying to touch his shoulders, his sleeves. He walked right by, pretending not to notice them and they loved him for it.

The spectator waited for the tall form to disappear in the billowing mist that greeted him, then he got up from his seat and headed for the doors. He’d seen all he’d come to see and wasn’t interested in the rest of the show.

He grinned all the way to his car, replaying the match in his head and committing the best bits to memory, and when he was seated behind the steering wheel, he pulled off his beanie, removed his sunglasses and smoothed his hair, more out of habit than out of necessity.

Checking the rear-view mirror, he set the blinker and was off.

Kylo Ren smiled behind his mask.

So he’d come tonight, the mysterious spectator who never stayed to watch who or what came after his matches. He had not been there for the last show. Kylo had noticed the moment he had left the fog behind to walk up to the ring and the pang of disappointment had been surprisingly intense. But he’d been here tonight, had sat where he usually sat (third row, fourth seat from the barrier) and from where Kylo now stood behind the curtains, unnoticed by the audience who were booing the next wrestler, he saw him rise from his seat.

Kylo lingered a bit longer to watch the man leave. He was tall, slim, dressed in jeans and hoodie and looked to be about Kylo’s age, maybe a little older, hard to tell with the pair of aviator sunglasses and that ridiculous beanie that concealed his hair. He wondered what the man’s hair looked like. He’d once seen a single strand peep out from underneath the beanie and was fairly certain it had been of a reddish hue but he wasn’t too sure. His helmet’s visor made it near impossible to make out colours.

He’d been tempted on more than one occasion to follow him outside to get a better look but he would risk giving himself away, to remove his helmet too soon, with the audience still too close. And that, he wouldn’t do. But he’d been tempted before and he was tempted now. Good Lord, was he ever.

There was something about the man that set him apart from all the other wrestling fans although Kylo couldn’t have said what it was. But it pleased him greatly, having a fan every bit as mysterious as he himself hoped to appear. And he in return had pleased the man, or rather: his performance in the ring had. He’d seen him smile, and that had motivated him to give his all.

Better leave it that way.


	2. Chapter 2

_15 mins of yr time?_

The IM popped up during a phone conference with a potential investor. Hux frowned, shook his head and rapidly typed a reply.

_In a call. Gimme 15._

_Tx._

The call should have ended 20 minutes ago but a savings bank being, well, a savings bank, it dragged on and on. Convincing them to dip their toes into waters they weren’t familiar with? Not on his list of things he enjoyed about his job.

“Yes, of course we will provide monthly reportings,” he said. “As of now, there’s no direct comparison to what’s been projected in the original business plan but it will be no problem providing that information for your in-house auditors. All we’ll have to do is add a column.—Yes, I understand. Absolutely.—A site visit? Sure. That can be arranged. Who will be accompanying you?—Splendid. Anything in particular you would like to see?—Oh. I see. Well, that’s going to be a little tricky, I’m afraid.” He tapped his lower lip. “Floors 15 and above are rented to Millcrown, Inc. and their safety regulations are rather strict. I’ll see what I can do, of course, but as of now, I can’t promise anything.—Certainly. I understand. Well, in that case it’d be great if you could provide me with two or three dates that would work best for you and I’ll get in touch with my contact right away.”

He scribbled down a line on his notepad. Asset Management would love this. Millcrown was as popular as, say, the common cold. Not lethal but a bloody nuisance. But if a potential investor expressed a wish to see the premises they were thinking about investing their cash in, even a bloody nuisance would be dealt with, and Jean Phasma was the woman to handle all kinds of nuisance.

When the last question was sufficiently answered and the headset was back in its cradle, Hux permitted himself a groan, a yawn and a stretch, then fired off a short message.

_Done. All yours now._

Less than three minutes later the door to his office opened and a tall woman came in, carrying a laptop and a coffee mug.

“Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine,” she observed and sat down opposite him. “Hello, Armitage.”

“Hello Jean,” he greeted her. “Life couldn’t be better.”

“That bad?”

“Exhausting.”

“Want me to fetch you a coffee?” she offered.

He shook his head.

“Thanks, but no thanks. Another coffee and my heart will explode. I’m thinking herbal tea right now.”

“Oh no, you poor thing.”

“I just got off the phone with Ms Cooper and Mr Landry of Secure Savings and they expressed the wish to see floors 17 and 18 of Bankside Towers.”

“What, the Millcrown floors?”

“Yes.”

“Oh bugger.”

“Exactly.”

“Any chance of talking them out of it?”

“Wouldn’t know how.” He sighed. “Well, it’s a 15 mil ticket they’re waving at us so we better grant them their wish.”

“The things we do for money.” She opened her laptop and typed a few words. “I’ll get on it first thing after the strategy meeting.”

“Thanks. You sort the site, I sort the investors. Their money will be most welcome, with Snoke brooding over that super project he’s been mumbling about for weeks.”

“Any news on that?”

“Beyond the teasers we’ve been sending out? Nothing tangible, no. As far as I know the bidding process is on-going but should be over soonish. Rumour has it Snoke has made a decision.”

“Without hearing the teams.”

“Of course. Did you expect anything else?”

“No. Not really. Seen the proposals?”

“Some of them, yes. Nothing mind-blowing there, I think, but right up Snoke’s alley. The bigger, the better.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Like what Waidton needs is another tower.” She pulled up a file. “Anyway, Wangley LLP are pulling their Tamworth and Adwick offices together and have therefore decided to execute their break option, meaning they will move out by Q1 next year.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am, unfortunately. I tried to talk them out of it and they were willing to negotiate, but we don’t have alternative space we could offer them. There’d be room enough in Taurus Tower but the building structure doesn’t meet their standards.”

“Damn. We’ll be looking at a vacancy rate of…” he frowned, looking for the latest numbers in his files.

“87 per cent,” Jean supplied. “Only 13 per cent of the Crystal’s total area are going to be occupied by April next year, and Rilings have already approached me for renegotiations.”

“What?”

“They’re not happy with how urban development is progressing in that area. When they signed their lease, it was in the belief that they rented offices in a building that was to be the centre of an up-and-coming business area, far enough from the too noisy CBD but within easy enough reach. Since then, two more developments have been put on ice and the promised metro station has not yet been opened, either. Parking is a nightmare and the retailers are closing down.”

“Don’t I know that,” Hux said bitterly. “I helped promote the bloody building. I thought it was a super exciting project at the time and ignored the non-speed with which city authorities tick of their to do-lists.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Armitage,” she said in her calm voice. “No matter how hard you crunch the numbers, nobody can foresee the future. My team are already chasing prospective tenants and Office4U are currently looking into renting floors five and six.”

“That’s good news, but we have an investors’ meeting coming up in two weeks, and the FORE Three Fund is already performing well beneath Q3 projections. We can’t explain it all with market fluctuations, not for the third time in a row.”

They looked at each other.

“Snoke’s not going to like it,” she said.

He rubbed a hand across his face, groaning.

“Not at all.” He checked his wristwatch. “I’m seeing him at two. Can’t wait to add this to the list of good news I’ll be delivering.”

******

“And the gist of your lengthy speech is that not only do three of our most prominent properties show a vacancy rate of more than 60 per cent, but the performance of FORE Three has dropped as well and the expense of FORE Real has increased by six basis points?”

“In short? Yes.”

Snoke, founder, CEO and principal shareholder of First Order Real Estate, leaned forward, hands folded before him on his massive designer desk, and gave Hux a hard stare out of his piercing blue eyes.

“May I ask what you are doing all day in your corner office?” he asked.

Hux didn’t bother replying. It was not the kind of question that called for an answer and Snoke wasn’t interested in explanations. Instead, he steeled himself for the beating that was to come, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“It’s not often that I question my decisions where my managers are concerned,” Snoke continued in a deceptively gentle voice. “But I will not deny I’ve been having second thoughts about you of late, Mr Hux. When I placed the additional responsibility of managing the equity capital market team into your hands, I clearly expected too much of you.”

“Sir, I—” Hux started but Snoke raised his hand and he fell silent.

“It has become painfully obvious you’re lacking both vision and strength to go beyond number crunching. Your ambition writes cheques your performance can’t cash. Maybe I should send Ms Phasma to go investor hunting along with you. At least she looks good in a skirt and that might sway the investors’ interest.”

“Mr Snoke, I take full responsibility—”

“I’m not interested in your excuses. Or your explanations. Our strategy must now change. There’s been an interesting development in our bidding process, something I had not expected, and I’ve revoked my original decision with regards to the architect I had chosen.”

“A change?” Hux frowned.

“Yes, change. Something you seem to shy away from.” Snoke gave a mirthless chuckle upon seeing Hux grind his teeth. “No need to get your hackles up, Mr Hux. Luckily, there are others whose imagination more than makes up for the lack of yours. There’s been a non-competitive entry and that’s the winner. His proposals are bold and courageous and they sum up everything FORE stands for: vision, power, class. Why, I even have a name for the project.”

“And what is that?”

“We’ll call it—” Snoke paused, straightened his upper body and made a gesture as if addressing a keen audience, “—the Green Needle.”

“The ‘green needle’,” Hux repeated, incredulous. “Is it thin and pointy?”

It was out before he could help himself and Snoke shot him a disdainful look.

“You’ll see, Mr Hux, you’ll see. I expect you to clear your schedule for Thursday afternoon.”

“I’m presenting the FORE Core Value fund to an institutional investor. If I cancel that appointment, we may well lose them.”

“What, another of your lame insurance companies who will invest, what, some eight to ten million? What I am going to present on Thursday will open the purses of the top players, Mr Hux. We’re looking at tickets of no less than twenty, twenty-five million. Have one of your little troopers perform for the insurers, unless you want to miss the chance of seeing something truly impressive.”

Hux pulled out his mobile phone and looked at his schedule.

“It may be possible to move the investor forward by a couple of hours,” he said, more to himself than to his CEO who had reached for the first of his signature folders. “They may even prefer having an early start. I believe—”

“Keep your beliefs to yourself. You’d do well to make yourself available.”

“Why is my presence so important for a meet and greet with the chosen architect? Portfolio management usually comes in once the project is ready to be marketed. Discussing model variations and construction details are within Mr Dameron’s responsibilities, are they not?”

“Mr Dameron’s responsibility is project development which means, stick to the specifications and place brick upon brick. You, on the other hand, must understand the vision behind the project. You need to be able to inspire investors to hand us their money, and on a silver plate, too. Do you think you’re up for this or should I look elsewhere for a project leader? Someone more enthusiastic, perhaps?”

“There is no need for that, sir,” Hux stiffly replied. “I believe I’m fully capable of presenting our new project to prospective investors.”

“I hope so, Mr Hux.” Snoke opened the folder, glanced over the document waiting for his signature and unscrewed his fountain pen to sign his name next to the ‘sign here’ sticker.

Hux recognised the dismissal for what it was and got up.

“One more thing,” Snoke said, as if on second thought. “It may motivate you to hear you have worked with the man before.”

“Who is it?”

“You’ll see,” Snoke said again. “You’ll see.”

Realising he wasn’t going to get more information, Hux turned to leave, closed the door behind him and on his way to his office stopped where his portfolio and fund managers were sitting.

“Sara, Leo,” he said, curtly, “with me. I have a special task for you.”

Much later that day and a lot closer to midnight than he would have preferred, Jean stuck her pale blonde head into his office.

“I’m calling it a day,” she said. “Can I tempt you to an alcoholic beverage?”

He looked up from the screen of his tablet.

“Any form of alcohol would be most welcome,” he said, switched off the tablet and checked his watch. “If we hurry, we can down a pint or two at _Craits_.”

“Sounds good. My treat, yes?”

“What have I done to deserve this?” He put tablet, laptop and a slim folder into his briefcase, slipped into his jacket and reached for his coat.

“It’s a small thank you for being my plus one at Sheila’s wedding,” she said with a smile. “You saved me from being the gigantic spinster nobody wants to dance with.”

“Come on, Jean,” he said, switching the overhead light off. “You’re not that scary.”

“Not to you,” she admitted and linked arms with him. “You’ve never worried about me towering over you.”

“Hey,” he protested, lightly pressing her arm. “You got some three inches on me, four and a half in pumps. I wouldn’t call that towering.”

“Others do,” she sighed. “And I so love to dance.”

“I know you do. You can always count on me to be your plus one, you know. Too bad romance never worked for us. We’d be a great team.”

“We are a great team, Armitage. Just, no couple.”

They reached the lifts. Hux held his chip card before the sensor and lift B signalled its arrival.

She let go of his arm and stepped into the brightly lit cabin.

“God, I hate the lighting in these things,” she sighed. “I look like an albino.”

“That makes two of us. Only this albino is wearing a fox’ fur for a wig.”

He checked his reflection in the mirror. He did look a bit pasty in the unflattering light and the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. True, he’d not slept much, but he was always trying to stick to regular resting hours. Maybe not take his laptop to bed? Brooding over calculations and fund performance sure didn’t add to waking up refreshed in the mornings.

“So, how did the meeting with our supreme leader go?” she asked as they stepped into the street. “You didn’t look happy when you left his office.”

“When does one ever look happy after a meeting with Snoke?” He raised his arm to hail a cab. “Unless you enjoy being his whipping boy. Want the short or the long version?”

“Short, please.”

A cab stopped and they got in. Hux gave the driver the pub’s address and leaned back.

“I’m a sore loser who doesn’t have his shit under control—and that is both fund performance and investors. Also, I have neither vision nor enthusiasm.”

“Charming.”

He snorted. “Luckily for all of us, there’s been a development in our latest project. A mystery architect has put in a masterpiece that will save the day, open purses and put a merciful shroud over my many failures. He’ll present his design proposal the day after tomorrow and Snoke explicitly requested my presence.”

“Really? Wouldn’t that be more in Dameron’s domain?”

“Well, in Snoke’s opinion, Dameron is little more than a bricklayer whereas I’m to fully grasp the splendour of the proposal so I may properly sell it to prospective investors. Who knows,” he gave a weak grin, “there may be hope for me yet.”

“I believe in you, Armitage. I always have.” She patted his knee. “Any idea who the wonder boy is?”

Hux shook his head.

“Not really. But Snoke said I’d worked with him before which narrows it down to four guys. But the way he said it…I have a bad feeling about this, Jean.”


	3. Chapter 3

On his way to the conference room, Hux ran into Poe Dameron, their development director.

“Poe,” he greeted him. “Excited about the super reveal?”

Dameron’s expressive brown eyes were shooting proverbial daggers.

“Oh yes,” he said with barely suppressed anger. “Super excited.”

“Me too,” Hux agreed. “May I ask what upset you? The presentation has not even begun.”

“Well, no, it hasn’t. But I was summoned to Snoke an hour ago and received explicit instructions on how to handle this masterpiece.”

“You too, huh.”

Dameron shot him a sideways glance.

“Oh yeah? I thought you and Snoke were all tight and shit.”

“Dear God, no,” Hux said, horrified. “What made you think that?”

“You’re in his office an awful lot. And sometimes he even goes to see you. He doesn’t bestow that honour on just about everyone. I don’t think he even knows where my office is.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. He visits me so he can tell me all about my many failings. Let me tell you, that’s an honour you really don’t want bestowed on you.”

“Huh. Anyway, you met the wunderkind yet?”

“The wunderkind?”

They turned around a corner and the biggest conference room lay straight ahead. Through the open doors, Hux heard a voice he’d not expected to hear again in a million light years, but at the same time, deep down inside, he had known it would be him. _Bad feeling about this_ indeed. He briefly closed his eyes.

“Oh shit,” he said, more to himself.

“Yeah, him,” Dameron said in a low voice. “Ben Solo, super star.”

They walked into the room where a number of colleagues had already gathered and Hux sat down next to Dameron. He busied himself by placing his notebook, pen and mobile at exact angles and only when he had arranged and re-arranged everything to within an inch of its life, he raised his eyes to look at the man who was standing with his back to the room, looking at a set of photographs and sketches on the sideboard and talking quietly to a slim young man by his side.

He turned around, reached for his iPad and his eyes fell on Hux. They held each other’s gaze for a moment. To Hux, it felt as if time stood still.

Then Solo’s eyes lit up and Hux felt the corners of his mouth lift. He knew they were both thinking the same thing.

 _A drunken night. An anonymous hotel room. His fingers buried in soft, luscious hair. Hungry kisses. Strong hands—very strong hands, gripping him just right. Their voices, hoarse with lust. Muffled moans. Great sex. No,_ fantastic _sex. Waking up in rumpled sheets the next morning, wrapped around each other._  
_Then, awkward silence, mumbled apologies, a hasty retreat. Massive hangover, mostly mental._  
_Radio silence ever since._

His smile died down, Solo lowered his eyes. The moment was over, and not a second too soon because Snoke walked into the room with Jean Phasma in tow, his limp barely noticeable today. Jean’s eyes widened by a fraction when she recognised Solo, then she looked at Hux. Hux looked away, afraid of not being able to keep his features under control. She sat down at the far end of the room, next to Keera Rey, Dameron’s ‘winger’, as he liked to call her.

Snoke glanced around the room and when he had convinced himself that all who needed to be present were in the room, he signalled to his assistant to close the door—from the outside. Apparently, his PA wasn’t deemed worthy to attend the unveiling of FORE’s next big project.

“Good afternoon,” he began. “So good of you to make time for me today. For us, I should say,” he added with a thin smile. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce Mr Ben Solo, the winner of our bidding process. If you’re not familiar with his name, then you have certainly seen photos of the projects he has created together with his uncle, Luke Skywalker of Skywalker Architects.”

A few _ah’s_ and _oh’s_ ghosted through the room. Skywalker Architects was a name one came across often in the real estate world. The firm was known for taking dull and uninspired office buildings with outdated technology and turning them into landmark properties.

“Two years ago,” Snoke continued, “Ben left his uncle’s company to pursue his own, unique vision of what tomorrow’s cities should look like. Shanghai’s Wireless Tower, the Vancouver Air Place, Abu Dhabi’s Manara Towers—look them up if you’ve not seen them. As for his academic background, Ben has studied at the University of British Columbia and holds a Master’s degree in architecture.” He took a step back. “Ben, show us what you intend to do with the drab insurance building we’ve acquired.”

Solo cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Mr Snoke. I appreciate the chance I’ve been given and I’m looking forward to working once more with FORE, only this time, I’ll be on my own.”

It sounded like a practised speech. Which it probably was, given how much he hated speaking before a group of people. Hux did remember that detail, amongst others.

Solo picked up his iPad and nodded to the young man who pushed a button on the remote control. Nothing happened. Solo frowned.

“Why isn’t this working, Dopheld?”

“Must be set to the wrong channel, sir.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get everything ready?”

“Sorry about that.”

“Well, fix it.”

Next to Hux, Dameron gave a soft snort and typed a quick message on his mobile.

The screen came to life and a photo of the building in its current state appeared. The young man—Dopheld—sat back with obvious relief on his face.

“This is the starting point,” Solo said. “The material I’ll have to work with. Outdated building structure, unsustainable material and technology. ‘Retro’, some say,” he flicked to another photo, showing the building from a most unflattering angle, “I call it architectural garbage. I know this makes me sound as if I’m disrespecting the original architect, well, I am not. He didn’t know any better. It was how things were done in the 80s. Make it big. No, make it bigger. Much like medieval tower houses: he who owns the tallest has the most money, the most power. That’s not the ideal we’re after today. Yes, towers are still being built but it’s not how high you can go and how shiny it all is but rather, how you can make a modern building an active part of what’s around it.”

As he went on, more and more graphic renderings came into view and Solo lost all awkwardness. His voice no longer sounded as if he was delivering a report, he grew animated, gesturing with his hands. He was obviously passionate about his work and about this project, and it was indeed spectacular, the building he had designed. Small wonder the old man had been in raptures over it. Well, as much as Snoke would ever let himself be enraptured.

It was a 63-floor skyscraper with a jenga-like, almost pixelated middle part that was supposed to reflect “the ever-changing environment, the fluidity with which the city and her inhabitants change and adapt to their surroundings”, as Solo put it. It was a daring break from the usual, smooth façades most buildings presented, despite their forms varying between discs, shards or phallic, and Hux was torn between admiring the building and the man who had designed it.

Solo had muscled up since their last meeting and his hair was longer than it had been back then. It almost touched his shoulders but it looked just as soft as Hux remembered. There was a long scar on his face that looked like someone had dealt him a blow with a horsewhip. It started above his right eyebrow and moved all the way down his right cheek to his jaw, not quite faded yet but well on the way of becoming a thin white line. It didn’t disfigure him, Hux thought, but it made him look like an old-fashioned villain from a cloak-and-dagger story, a pirate, maybe, or a highwayman. All he needed was a wide-brimmed hat, top-boots and a rapier. Instead, he was wearing a dark suit that was tailored to his massive frame—Hux knew a thing or two about tailored suits—but even the most exquisite of fabrics could only do so much to hide wide shoulders and thick arms. And thighs.

Hux involuntarily swallowed and forced his thoughts back to what was being presented.

“The, uh, indented bit in the middle, is that supposed to be the residential part of the building or the hotel?” he asked, interested.

“The apartments will go there,” Solo replied. “I’m planning to create a green belt, a recreational park right before your apartment. You step out on to your balcony and you are in the middle of nature.”

“Does that mean the residents will have no say in the matter?” Jean asked. “What I mean is, if there is a pre-designed park, how about decorating your own balcony in a manner that suits you best?”

Solo opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Snoke.

“Apologies for interrupting, Ben,” he said. “But there’s been a regrettable misunderstanding. There will absolutely not be any plants on the building façade, and there will be strict rules as to who will put what outside and where.”

“Mr Snoke, when we discussed my original plans I explicitly said—”

Snoke held up a hand.

“Yes, yes, I remember. And I did like it upon first looking at it but my experience with British investors tells me to tread carefully with novelties. We will have rainwater harvesters, an aerodynamic system to reuse waste air and Ethernet-powered lighting, and so forth. Quite green enough without putting a lot of shrubbery on the outside, don’t you think?”

Solo looked as if he was going to explode but Hux beat him to it because he, too, wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

“Excuse me, Mr Snoke,” he said, suppressing his anger as best he could. “British investors only? I was under the impression I was to reach out to East Asia, namely South Korean and Singaporean pension funds?”

“You obviously weren’t listening closely enough, Mr Hux. You may recall I told you our strategy had to change. Well, addressing different investors than originally planned is part of that change.”

The sly smile Snoke gave him invited him to challenge his words but Hux didn’t take the bait. Instead, he pressed his lips together and gave a tight nod.

“But Mr Snoke,” Dameron said, blissfully unaware of the open sword he was about to jump into. “I understood from our talk earlier this morning that this building was to be dubbed the ‘Green Needle’ and from the renderings Mr Solo has just shown us it makes beautiful sense. Don’t you think that if you take all the, uh, greens and shrubs away it’ll be just another high-rise? Unusual structure and all, yes, but glass and mirrors like all the rest. I think Mr Solo has created something extraordinary here and if we work according to his plans, FORE will send a clear, bold statement out to other developers.”

Snoke directed his cold blue stare at Dameron.

“Please do share your thoughts, Mr Dameron,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m dying to hear how you would promote Mr Solo’s concept. And what exactly is the bold statement you would like FORE to convey to our competitors?”

Hux desperately wanted nudge Dameron, to let him know it would be better to shut up, but Snoke had his eyes fixed on Dameron and anything Hux did would not go unnoticed.

Dameron sat up and leaned forward.

“Well, the way I see it, this city has always prided herself of her beautiful parks and green corners where people can meet and relax and forget for a while they’re in a big, bustling city, surrounded by towers that rise higher and higher. But while there is lots of green on the ground, there is nothing that reminds us of nature as we look up. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to be the first to bring a living, green park to the skies?”

He sat back, his eyes sparkling, and Hux had to suppress a smile despite all. He and Dameron weren’t the best of friends and probably never would be, but Hux couldn’t—and wouldn’t—deny that Dameron was good at his job. He looked at sketches of buildings and understood their potential in a way that widely differed from how Hux tended to look at things. Dameron had a knack of grasping the emotional impact of a property and what’s more, if he took to an idea, he threw himself into it whole-heartedly and with the disarming exuberance of a pup.

Even Solo lost some of his scowl and he gave Dameron a look that held both appreciation for someone obviously understanding the message his project was sending, and gratitude at hearing his proposal called ‘extraordinary’. Dameron smiled at Solo, all white teeth and dark eyes, and Hux felt a sudden urge to kick his shin, his short outburst of camaraderie towards the man gone. Everyone knew pups shat everywhere. Right? Right.

In any case, Dameron had picked the wrong moment to speak his mind, and it showed in the way Snoke tilted his head to the side.

“Well, well,” he slowly said. “A living, green park in the skies. Lord save us from construction workers with vision. May I suggest you stick to your job, Mr Dameron? Pull your grunts together to make sure all timelines are met and get on the knocker so we have all contractors at our disposal when we need them. Or would you like me to direct your attention to the near disaster you brought upon us in the last stages of finalising Topaz Square?”

Dameron’s eyes narrowed, and now Hux did nudge him under the table.

“Yes, Mr Hux, well done,” Snoke said. “Better call him back before he embarrasses himself any further. Now, may I suggest we continue?”

The rest of the meeting continued in much the same fashion. The team seemed to like Solo’s original proposal as much as Hux and Dameron did but instead of encouraging them and evoking their team spirit, Snoke had to have decided that yanking the collective leash was a better way to motivate them. The head of accounting suggested financing structures that would ensure getting the necessary loans quickly – “don’t waste my time on explaining methods of how to count peas, Mr Rudolphs”; Jean listed names of prospective tenants she’d been in negotiations with before – “steer clear of brothel owners and Russian crime syndicates, Ms Phasma, and don’t bother me with tenant talk before the contracts are ready to be signed”; and Keera voiced her concerns about obtaining all necessary building permits within the suggested time frame – “aren’t you here to take notes for Mr Dameron, Ms, uh…”

When the meeting was finally over, Hux closed his notebook with almost physical relief. Time for a cigarette. He didn’t smoke much, not anymore, but the combination of seeing Ben Solo and being subjected to their CEO’s foul mood made him yearn for a cigarette. And a strong drink. But as drinking at work was out of the question, he would settle for a cigarette and a black coffee.

He had just signalled his intention to Jean, receiving an enthusiastic nod in return, when Snoke addressed him from behind.

“Mr Hux, a minute of your valuable time, if I may.”

Hux rolled his eyes at Jean and turned around.

“Of course, Mr Snoke.”

“I’d like to speak with you and Mr Solo in private. Ben, with me.” The last words were spoken in a tone one would use to call a dog to heel, and it didn’t sit well with Solo. His spine stiffened.

“I’ll be with you shortly,” he said. “I need to pack my things.”

“Your assistant can pack your things for you. I don’t have much time. My office, please.”

Without another word and carefully avoiding to meet the other's eyes, they fell into step behind Snoke and followed him to his office. The CEO’s limp was more pronounced now than it had been before, probably because of having his opinion challenged, but he walked with his spine ramrod straight, looking neither left nor right.

Hux and Solo were close enough for their hands to almost touch once or twice. It was bloody distracting, Hux thought, and distracting didn’t rank very high on his list. He kept his arms tightly to his sides, hoping he didn’t look like a wooden puppet next to Solo who walked with the careless swagger of one very sure of himself.

Snoke’s assistant looked up when she saw them coming and stood up to hand her boss a slim folder.

“Your visitors have arrived, Mr Snoke,” she said. “Here are the documents you asked to see before the meeting. They’re in the Lake Room.”

“Bring them the latest business report, one copy each, and tell them I’ll be ten minutes late.”

“Of course.”

She took the requested documents, neatly bound books, from the sideboard behind her desk and vanished around the corner.

They followed Snoke into his office and Hux closed the door behind them. Snoke sat down at this desk but didn’t invite them to take a seat, and so they remained standing, much like schoolboys before the headmaster.

“You saw how the meeting went,” he said, stapling his fingertips together. “Small minds, small concerns. This is not how I want this to go. You two need to work closely together. I expect you to present a united front, to stand shoulder to shoulder as one man. I will have no discussion as to what goes where and why. You two will report to me directly and everyone else will report to you. You, Mr Hux, will send me a list of who you think is able to see a project of this scale through. Six max, including yourself. Everyone else is decoration, a potted plant no-one wants to see. Once I’ve reviewed your list I will send a message to the project team making it crystal clear each and every decision will have to go through you and then to me directly. Anyone who wishes to discuss this is invited to see me. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” said Solo, and “Of course,” said Hux.

Snoke leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands over his stomach and looked them up and down.

“I remember there were some, well, let’s call them disagreements between the two of you when you were working on the Corner Two project,” he said. “I suggest you behave more maturely this time. You, Ben, are not your uncle’s employee any longer. You are your own man. And you, Mr Hux, are no longer a mere team leader but a director. Others report to you, not the other way around. I expect you to keep that in mind.”

“Certainly, sir,” Hux said, a little stiffly.

“Good. Then I will not keep you any longer. I’m sure you have lots to do. Send me that list by six tonight. Ben, sit.”

Jean was at her desk, frowning at something she was reading. She looked up when he knocked.

“I brought you a diet coke,” he said and held up a bottle. “Join me outside for a moment?”

“Sure.” She stood up and grabbed her jacket. “That went quicker than I thought.”

“Short and sweet.”

“What else.”

She took the bottle from him and they went outside, taking the emergency exit. Their concierge gave them a frown but Jean raised her coke bottle in a mock toast and smiled a wide smile. The frown deepened. She laughed and they stepped outside and walked to the designated smoking area. There they found Dameron, furiously clicking away on his smartphone and looking very grim.

“Tearing someone apart, Poe?” Hux asked, lighting first Jean’s, then his cigarette. “Join us for a fag?”

“What?” Dameron looked up from what he was doing, saw their cigarettes and shook his head. “You know, I’ll never get used to you Brits saying stuff like, ‘fancy a fag’ or ‘share a fag’. That sounds so…wrong, you know.”

“Only to you guys,” Hux said. “To us, a fag is this,” he held up his cigarette, “and nothing else. It’s you who get it wrong all the time. So, want one?”

“I don’t smoke,” Dameron said.

Hux sighed and put the packet of cigarettes away.

“So healthy of you. In case you’re worried about my lungs and skin and whatever, I’ll have you know that I am no longer a chain smoker. It’s taken me a couple of years but I’m down to three per day. This is my third today which means I’m depriving myself of the pleasure of my late night smoke.” He inhaled, leaned against the building’s wall and exhaled. “So, who did you kill?”

“Huh? Oh. Nobody. Well, a couple of bad guys. I just saved a bunch of brave rebel fighters from a squadron of evil droids.”

“Oh yeah? How exactly did you do that?”

Dameron shrugged and put his phone into his back pocket.

“I’m the best pilot in the known universe,” he said.

Jean snorted.

“I can imagine,” she said. “All rogue and dashing. Following your instincts. Not good with rules and all that rubbish. ”

He flashed her one of his bright smiles.

“No rules for me,” he confirmed. “Black Leader doesn’t take orders.”

“Black Leader?” Hux laughed. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be the best space pilot?”

“Nothing wrong with that at all. So, what did you think of Solo’s proposal? Did you mean what you said, that it’s extraordinary?”

“Absolutely. It’s stunning, I love it. Clear lines, perfect proportions, and that funky bit in the middle is just perfect. A beautiful disruption. It’ll be great fun raising it up. I can't wait to get started.”

“Even though Snoke called you a construction worker?” Jean asked.

“Fuck Snoke,” Dameron rudely said. “He’s a sad old man who clings to his power because he’s got nothing else going for him. I won’t be working with him anyway. I have Keera, I have my team, and I’ll be working closely with Solo. Hux is the one who has the honour of Snoke’s visits, not I.”

“Looking forward to that, are you?” asked Hux. “Working with Solo?”

“Sure do. He’s an interesting character although I did find him a bit dickish when he bossed that kid around. You guys know him?”

“We’ve worked with him before,” Hux said. “And ‘interesting’ is one way of putting it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ll find out. I won’t spoil it for you.”

“Mhm.” Dameron chewed on his lower lip. “You have any idea why Snoke treats him the way he did back there? I thought Solo is the new superstar on the horizon, and Snoke treated him like one would treat a bratty kid.”

“Solo _is_ the new superstar, make no mistake about that,” Jean said and Hux supplied, “Snoke knew his grandfather. He doesn’t speak about it, at least not to me, but from what I gather, it’s to do with the Falkland war. Skywalker senior saved his life or something, and Snoke owes him.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Dameron said.

“That’s Snoke for you.”

“You’re probably right. Anyway, gotta go. One of our Hillside Tower contractors is giving us a hard time. Let’s remind him who’s paying who.”

“Go get ‘em, Black Leader,” Jean said, grinning.

He held up both thumbs and vanished through the glass door.

Jean looked after him and shook her head.

“What a character,” she said. “Thing is, I can just see him as the dashing rebel pilot. He’s got the swag for it.”

“And you would hold his helmet for him, eh.”

“Hell no,” she said, dropped her cigarette and put it out with her elegant shoe. “I’d take him down because I’m a far better pilot.” She picked the cigarette butt up and neatly disposed of it in the ashtray-slash-bin. “No rebel scum on my watch.”

“Excellent thinking, Phasma,” he said. “I hereby promote you to captain of my personal guard.”

“Thanks, General.”

She gave a smart salute and they both laughed.

“So,” she said after a pause, “Ben Solo. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said, a little evasively. He did know how he felt about it but he didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t want to dwell on it, not with Jean present. She knew him too well.

She pressed on. “Well, does your stomach feel like it’s been filled with lead or are there one or two butterflies fluttering about?”

“Don’t be absurd,” he said. “Neither. I’ll be…professional about it. It’s been a few years and things have certainly changed since then.”

“If you say so,” she said, sounding utterly unconvinced. “But what if—”

He shook his head.

“I do say so,” he confirmed, took one last pull from his cigarette and flicked the still glowing butt into the ashtray. “Let’s go back inside. I have a special task from Snoke and I don’t have enough time to waste on what ifs.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ben sat down, waited for Hux to pull the door close behind him and only then turned to Snoke.

“Why are you changing my building?”

“ _Your_ building?” Snoke leaned forward, putting both hands on the table. “Last time I checked it was I who has acquired the site.”

“Last time _I_ checked, FORE has acquired the site, and not you personally.” It came out more waspish than he had intended, and Snoke frowned at Ben.

“FORE is my company and therefore this is my building.”

“But it’s still my proposal you intend to use.”

“For the time being, yes.”

“What do you mean, for the time being?”

“My dear boy,” Snoke folded his hands. “What I mean is that if you cross me in public one more time, I will declare your contract null and void.”

“You can’t do that!” Ben exclaimed.

“I most certainly can. You have signed the contract. I haven’t. Not yet, that is.”

Ben opened his mouth, then closed it again. Snoke was right. He hadn’t signed Ben’s contract yet. It was probably still in one of his signature folders. They’d gone through it together, had discussed a few changes and Snoke had presented him with the finalised version the week before. Ben had signed his name but then Snoke had been called into a conference to settle a dispute between two negotiating parties, or something of the kind. Ben had waited for him to return but eventually had had to leave for another appointment and then had forgotten all about it.

Snoke gave one of his humourless smiles.

“I see realisation is dawning on you,” he said. “Good. Back to business now, shall we. The reason I will not go with your original proposal is that it is too far removed from what FORE stands for.”

“But you have taken me on because you wanted something unique. That’s what you said when we first discussed the proposal.”

“I have taken you on because this country doesn’t have architectural visionaries at your level. You possess more than mere talent, Ben, yours is a _gift_.” Snoke thumped his index finger on his desk to emphasise the last word. “I have watched your progress from the moment you entered college, from your first holiday job at Skywalker Architects until your graduation. It gave me much satisfaction to watch you outgrow your uncle, to claim your independence and when he started using your drafts instead of his, it was time to intervene. You were ready to be introduced into circles of more influence than Skywalker can ever hope to achieve. Did I ever tell you why I did it?”

Ben shook his head, indicating he had no idea. Snoke leaned back and again folded his fingers.

“It’s a promise I gave your grandfather and I intend to fulfil that promise. So when you finally came to me for advice and help, I didn’t hesitate to help you lay the foundation of your own business. I invested a considerable sum, as you may remember, and when I make an investment, I expect to see a return.”

“I have already paid back two third of what I owe you,” Ben said, defensively.

“But not in the way I had expected. Despite all my efforts, you’re still not using your full potential. Your business is doing well, but well is not good enough. And what’s worse, instead of putting your gift to good use, you have chosen to make a spectacle of yourself with that…side business of yours. It’s unworthy of you, Ben, and it’s taking your focus away from your true path.”

“It helps me stay balanced. And I enjoy it.”

“It puts your health at risk. Tell me again how you got that scar?”

“It’s nothing. One of the new guys miscalculated the angle and—”

Snoke held up a bony hand.

“Please, say no more,” he said. “I don’t want to hear about it. Play the masked man if you must but know that I will hold you personally responsible if you fail to fulfil the contract.”

“The contract that you haven’t signed?”

“Don’t be smart with me. You will receive a fully executed copy by courier by the end of this business day. Will someone be there to pick it up?”

“I have things to do for another project so yes, I will be there. And if for whatever reason I cannot open the door myself, my assistant certainly will. The building has a concierge service, too.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, may we continue?”

Snoke went on to explain in no uncertain terms that Ben’s original concept of making the Green Needle a truly green building by adding a vertical (more or less) garden was out of the question, saying FORE did not stand for the great outdoors but for sleek and progressive. There was not much Ben could contribute to the conversation and so he listened to Snoke, listened to him reduce his original concept to what would be just another high-rise, listened to him go on about how depicting rice terraces and subtropical landscapes in countries with a more rural society beyond the great cities was one thing, but sticking trees and shrubbery to a Waidton building was out of the question. His head was beginning to ache with the too familiar rage building up inside of him and he ground his teeth.

“Is there…anything else?” he managed when Snoke finally came to an end, trying hard for a steady voice.

“There is indeed.”

Ben pressed his lips together and a faint smile ghosted over Snoke’s haggard features, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.

“Now, you listen to me, Ben,” he said. “I’m going to say this only once. Do I have your attention?”

Ben nodded, not trusting himself to keep his voice steady.

“Good. I was serious when I said I want you and Mr Hux to work closely together. I want you to watch him and learn from him as much as possible.”

“Learn from Hux?” It came out like a croak and Ben cleared his throat. “What on earth do you want me to learn from him?”

“Manners, for one. Discipline, next. The man is a tireless worker and his analytical skills are most impressive. He has whipped portfolio management back into shape, fund performances are finally on the rise again and I’ve recently placed the equity capital markets section into his hands for the same reason. He understands the business, he understands how the market works, he knows how the investors think and he knows which product to present to whom. He’s the man to sell the Green Needle to investors, national and international alike.”

“Why him? Why not that tall woman you had in tow?”

“Jean Phasma? No. She’s Hux’ creature, not mine.”

Neither ‘creature’ nor ‘mine’ was lost on Ben. That’s what they all were, those who got involved with Snoke. His ‘creatures’. He gritted his teeth.

“From what I understand, she’s doing a decent enough job getting rid of the vacant spaces but I will not entrust her with anything as complex as portfolio management. No, you will team up with Mr Hux. I don’t care what petty business lies between the two of you but you will not let it cast a shadow on this project, nor the company. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” Ben said bitterly. What else was there to say, really. Withdrawing was out of the question, his pride wouldn’t let him. This was going to be his first major project in Great Britain, in Europe, for that matter, and he wanted to leave an impression. “Are we done here? I have a conference call coming up and a project to revise.”

“Yes, we are done. Send Ms Senner in on your way out and tell her to bring pen and paper. I have letters to dictate.”

With that, Snoke reached for a pile of documents, not sparing another glance for Ben.

Ben rose and walked to the door, only then realising he had balled his hands into fists. He flexed his fingers, opened the office door and cast one last glance back. Snoke had his attention fixed on the documents before him, or at least it seemed he had, and so Ben left his office without another word.

“He wants you,” he told Ms Senner. “Bring pen and paper.”

He didn’t wait for her reaction and made for the conference area instead. He found his assistant in the room where they’d held their meeting, typing away on his iPad, a coffee mug by his elbow. Their photos and renderings were packed away and the small table on which the model of the building was standing had been pushed into a corner by the window.

Dopheld looked up and all but jumped to his feet.

“Ready when you are,” he cheerfully said. “I thought it’d be best to wait for you here. Rose said the room wasn’t needed for another hour and so I decided to go through our inbox. Most messages were of a general nature and only a few will need to be seen by you.”

“Who’s Rose?” Ben asked, only half listening.

“Rose Tico,” Dopheld said. “She’s in office and travel management and she oversees the reception area, too. She’s very friendly and—”

“Yes, I’m sure she is.”

Ben walked over to the model of the building he had drafted. He looked at it, looked at the miniature gardens and terraces and remembered how he had started researching domestic plants that would make his vision come to life. He had visited gardens and had spoken to landscapers and gardeners, both professionals and amateurs, all of them passionate about their plants and flowers and willing to share their knowledge.

He touched a fingertip to a tiny tree, plucked it away and rolled its little stem between thumb and forefinger. He had been so proud of this concept, so sure it would make a great addition to FORE’s portfolio, maybe even earn him Snoke’s approval. It would have been stunning, truly innovative, the first of its kind in the city of Waidton, and when the exhibit designer had presented him with the model, Ben had been near giddy with pleasure. It looked perfect, sleek enough to not have sprung from a fairy tale but unusual enough to stand out amidst all the other office towers.

Shrubbery. Not what FORE stood for.

Ben closed his fist around the plastic tree, crushing it. He let it drop to the floor and with a frustrated howl slammed his fist into the model, sent it flying off the table. It landed on the floor with a splintering noise and the impact made bits and pieces break off.

“Fuck this place!”

Dopheld dropped his iPad, bent down to retrieve it and, after a quick glance to ensure it hadn’t broken, pressed it to his chest.

“Ben,” he said, weakly. “Why did you do that?”

“Because it’s shit, that’s why,” Ben snapped. “You heard the boss. No greens on the green building.”

The sight of the broken model infuriated him even more. There it lay on the floor of some office building, his advance into an area off the beaten track. Seemed his creativity wasn’t sought for after all, and an adventurous spirit had to stay within predefined parameters. He gave another snarl and stomped his foot on what would have been the residential part of the building. The cardboard and polystyrene didn’t have much substance to offer and crumpled under Ben’s heavy boot.

“But sir, the model—”

“What?”

Dopheld had gone very pale but his assistant’s visible distress did nothing to calm Ben’s rage.

“What?” he shouted when there was no reply.

“It was expensive,” Dopheld said in a shaky voice.

“Bill it against my invoice!”

“But—”

“Meet me at the office in two hours. We have work to do.”

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t but me, Mitaka. Two hours. Do you have the address I asked you to get?”

“The—ah, yes, of course. Do you need it now?”

“Send it to my mobile. I’m going there now. And book me a slot.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. If they’re giving you nonsense about not having a slot, give them my name. The other name. That should do the trick. But make sure to tell them if they gossip about this I will sue their asses and have them shut down.”

“Understood.”

By the time Ben reached his motorbike, Dopheld had sent him the address and he entered it into Google maps, activated the navigation and eased his bike into the road. He felt the desperate urge to speed, to hear the engine roar and feel the powerful machine surge forward, but he already had 6 penalty points on his license (all obtained within his first two weeks after arriving in the UK), and even in his foulest of moods he knew it wouldn’t be wise to collect more points. And so he stuck to the speed limits and arrived at his destination after twenty minutes.

He parked his bike, removed his helmet, took his spare training gear out of his saddle bags and made straight for the reception area.

“My name is Ben Solo,” he said without preamble, “and I believe my assistant has already called ahead to book a slot.”

The words had only just left his mouth when a muscular, dark-skinned man of middle height all but shot around a corner, wiping his hands on a towel around his neck.

“Ben,” he said and offered his hand. “You were announced, and I’m very happy to make your acquaintance. It’s such an honour that you would—”

“Don’t bother with niceties,” Ben cut him off. “It was made clear to you that I do not wish to have my identity revealed?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Good. Is the ring free now?”

The man – Tony, as per his name tag – checked the clock above the counter and shook his head.

“Not for another half hour, I’m afraid. But then it’s all yours for 45 minutes. I’m afraid that’s all I could do upon such short notice.”

“It’ll do for today. If I like it, I’ll have my assistant book more appointments.”

“You will like it, I’m sure of it. We’ve just renovated the whole place and most of the gear is brand new. Let me show you to the locker rooms so you can change and when you’re ready, I’ll give you a quick tour.”

“Thank you.”

It was a nice gym. Excellent, in fact, with everything Ben needed for a good workout. A generous cardio section, a wide selection of weights, state-of-the-art fitness equipment, and a spacious crossfit area.

“Not bad,” Ben said approvingly and Tony beamed with pride.

“As soon as we got the expansion space we applied for, we started redesigning our fitness area,” he said. “We still need to put up the barrier between the yoga and the crossfit area. It’s been delayed by a couple of weeks which is bloody annoying because these two don’t really go well with each other, but all in all I’m very happy with how everything’s turned out. Let me show you the martial arts section.”

This, too, was most impressive. Ben saw punch bags of various shapes, speedballs, wooden dummies for the martial artists, he saw people rope jumping, practising with boxing mitts and padded shin protectors, six young athletes were sparring in the ring under the supervision of their trainers. It smelled of sweat and adrenaline and it sounded exactly like a training compound should, with sounds of fists landing punches on bags and speedballs, with harsh orders being barked out by the trainers and muffled and not-so-muffled shouts and groans from the athletes.

Ben felt right at home. Just—

“This looks more like a boxing ring,” he said. “Will I be able to use it as planned?”

“Absolutely,” Tony replied. “We had to compromise with the foam padding and there are four ropes instead of three, that’s right, but that’s because the ring is mainly used by boxers and martial artists. The ropes are tensioned by turnbuckles and the ring posts are integrated with the frame so pro wrestlers are safe to use it as well. We have it checked for security on a monthly basis. Because of the padding and because of the ropes we strongly advise against using this ring for beginners’ training but that’s hardly the case with you.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Ben replied, eyeing the ring. “It all looks sturdy enough. Where do I sign for the trial workout?”

“I’ve already prepared the paperwork. Follow me.”

Ben followed Tony into his office, accepted the guest contract and glanced it over. It was the usual ‘exercise at your own discretion’ and ‘accept that any injury or illness brought on by exercise is your own responsibility’ and he scrawled his name above the signature line.

Walking back into the gym area, he checked the time. 20 minutes until he could use the ring. Not enough for his usual warm-up and weight routine but enough for some cardio and a round of burpees. The Jacob’s Ladder stairmasters were occupied, so he chose the treadmill nearest to the Ladders, plugged his earpods in, chose his preferred workout playlist and started with a light trot, keeping a watchful eye on the Ladders. He hated running and much preferred the stairmaster.

As he fell into a pace he felt comfortable with, he let his thoughts travel freely, slipping into a semi-trance as was his custom during cardio, idly touching upon today’s events but not lingering where it would rekindle his anger. He would store his anger and unleash it when there was enough time to work out with weights.

_Don’t think of Snoke. Focus on something that pleased you today._

And one thing that had pleased him today was—

_Hux._

He had been handsome then but he was stunning now. Lanky had turned into wiry, well-dressed had turned into sharp and those sideburns had turned boyish into roguish in a film noir kind of way. Not everybody could pull sideburns off but on Hux, they looked hot.

He’d never quite forgotten Armitage Hux even though they’d fallen out of touch after that one night. Why, he couldn’t remember. In all probability, neither could Hux. What if they had been brought back together for a reason? What if they were to truly stand shoulder to shoulder, a united front as Snoke had put it? What would they be able to achieve? Professionally, and, perhaps, personally?

The moment their eyes had met, Ben had known they were both thinking the same. He had felt the intensity of their shared memories as directly as any physical sensation. Hux’ eyes had bored into his, so green, so beautifully green, and for a moment, Ben had been overwhelmed with images of lazy smiles, of his hands in Hux’ red hair, had remembered Hux’ gasp as Ben had entered him, had for a crazy moment felt Hux’ long legs holding his hips in an iron grip.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment, lost his rhythm and almost stumbled. He grabbed the handrails for balance and cursed inwardly. From the treadmill behind him came a barely suppressed giggle. He scowled, fell back into rhythm and forced his thoughts back to what he was doing. No time for idle speculations.

First, he would fix his project, try and save as much of his original concept as possible. Snoke would not crush it in his bony fingers. Maybe trim down the façade park and find other ways to integrate plants. Perhaps adjust the angles of the terraces. Yes, that might work. Add steel netting to allow for a vertical garden of a different layout than what he had originally planned. There were other ways to keep the Green Needle a truly green building. All he needed to do was to rework his drafts.

And then, Hux.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the rocky start, the project soon began picking up speed as all necessary paperwork and permits came in. Excavation was nearly finished and from where Hux was standing, he could see the first iron components being hauled in.

“Thank heavens for a mild winter,” he said to Jean who was standing next to him, watching the workers. “We made great progress in January and it looks as if February will be just as cooperative.”

“Don’t jinx it,” she replied and put up her collar. “It hardly ever snows around the holidays or New Year’s. But yes, we’ve made good progress. Dameron is excellent at motivating people.”

“Of course. Dameron. Your rogue pilot, yes?”

“Jealous, Armitage?”

“Of a hobbit? Certainly not.”

She lightly slapped his arm.

“That’s called height-shaming and you know it.”

“It’s hardly height-shaming where Dameron is concerned.”

“He’s not a hobbit.”

“Dwarf, then.”

“He’s not a dwarf either.”

“Mhm.” He frowned, as if in thought. “You’re right. Not enough facial hair.” He laughed and held up his hands when she motioned as if to slap him again. “Don’t hit me again, Jean. I’m going to stop it right here. Yes, Mr Dameron is good at what he does. There. Happy?”

“I don’t know why you dislike him so.”

“I don’t dislike him. I just find it funny that you seem to have taken him under your wings. Didn’t you want to shoot him out of the sky not too long ago?”

“I did, and I have,” she nodded. “Shot him out of the sky, I mean. During the holidays I signed up for the game he’s playing on his mobile and have quickly become his personal nightmare.” She grinned. “I’m Captain Silver, and he hates my guts.”

“Does he know?”

“I hope not.” She gave a shiver. “It’s chilly out here. Let’s go back to the office, shall we? I’m getting cold.”

He nodded and they turned around.

“How was your week off?” she asked after they’d hailed a cab. “We’ve not really spoken since you’ve returned.”

“Hardly my fault. You’re the one who’s been travelling almost non-stop.”

“Business trips, love, business trips. Site visits, property tours and catching up with our investors. One of us has to keep the fact sheets updated while Mr Hux is putting his feet up, you know.”

“Human Resources was all over me about taking residual leave,” he defended himself.

“I know, darling,” she petted his arm. “So, did you go and see your parents?”

“Dear God, no,” he said. “Christmas was quite enough. No need to go back there before my father’s birthday.”

“Did you do something fun then? Maybe even go somewhere? I was really surprised about the tiny number of messages coming in from you.”

“No, I stayed in Waidton and caught up with some reading and some chores, too. Met with a few friends and did some running as well.”

“Seen any good shows with men in tights beating each other up?”

“Indeed I have. There just so happened to be one on my first weekend off.”

“Worth your time?”

“Very much worth it. He defended his title, again, if I may say so. Oh and just imagine, he remained the last man standing at the New Year’s Rumble.”

“Imagine that,” she said dryly. “Sounds like you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. He’s unstoppable,” Hux said, as proudly as if the achievements were his to flaunt.

Jean laughed.

“Why you enjoy watching that is beyond me,” she said. “I mean, it’s not even real sports, is it. It’s all choreographed.”

“Jean, we’ve discussed this hundreds of times,” he sighed. “You enjoy going to the ballet, yes? What else is it but a bunch of blokes in tights following a choreography?”

“Yes, but—”

“Here’s blokes in tights jumping across a stage to express fake feelings, there’s blokes in tights jumping across a ring to pretend they’re at war with each other. Same thing, different approach.”

“Whatever, Armitage. As long as your champion keeps you happy.”

“He does. I’ve never seen anyone like him before. The things he can do—” he made a gesture indicating his awe, “it’s like the laws of gravity don’t apply to him. I keep waiting for him to lose balance or to miss a jump but he doesn’t. He just doesn’t. It’s as if he’s held by invisible ropes, or as if he can hold on to the air around him.”

She shot him an incredulous look.

“Maybe I should YouTube him after all.”

“You do that,” he said earnestly. “Even you will have to admit he’s special.”

“I’ll do it tonight. If only to see what he looks like.”

“Oh, he’s wearing a mask.”

“What, like Spiderman?”

“More like Iron Man. No spandex.”

“A mask, huh.”

He went on to describe his champion’s latest victories, fully aware he sounded like a twelve-year-old, and Jean listened with obvious amusement, throwing in a few teasing remarks here and there. He didn’t mind. They’d been friends for longer than either of them cared to remember and she teased him about his love for pro wrestling as much as he teased her about her love for cheesy musicals.

“Speaking of tall, dark and mysterious,” she said when the cab pulled up before their offices. “Heard anything of the whereabouts of our star architect?”

“No,” he replied and paid the cabbie. “He made an appearance at a board meeting mid-January but that’s about all I know. He’s probably gone off to China or Abu Dhabi to work on one of his fancy projects.”

“Maybe we can catch up with him before MIPIM. I have a few questions for him regarding the adjustments Snoke asked him to make, some things potential tenants have brought to my attention.”

“I’m not sure he’ll come in before MIPIM, I’ve not heard anything in weeks. Hell, I’m not sure he’ll even grace MIPIM with his presence.”

The MIPIM, a real estate event held each year in Cannes, France, was little more than a month away. It was a prestigious event that attracted all international players from the various real estate sectors to meet, network, discuss potential transactions—see and be seen.

“What, miss the chance to present his work and himself? Miss out on a chance to spend a week sipping champagne in sunny Cannes? I don’t think so.”

“You’re probably right. Well, let’s see what fun this afternoon will hold for us.”

What it held for Hux was a summons to see Snoke, pinned to his computer screen by means of a bright yellow sticker. Hux removed it, shook his head and went to the CEO’s office immediately.

“You know,” he told Ms Senner and held the sticker up for her to see, “he could have reached me on my mobile. I was visiting the Green Needle site with Ms Phasma.”

“I know that,” the assistant replied. “But you know how he is. He doesn’t fancy mobile devices.”

“Well, he could have told you to get in touch. I could have come here a lot sooner.”

She made a non-committal noise and pointed to the door.

“You can go straight in. He has a visitor but I think it’ll concern you as well.”

Hux frowned but walked up to the door, knocked and waited.

“Come,” his boss’ voice was heard and Hux opened the door.

His gaze fell on the broad frame of Ben Solo who sat in one of the visitors’ chairs before Snoke’s massive desk, a motorcycle jacket hanging from the back of his chair and a messenger bag sitting next to him on the floor. He didn’t bother turning around upon Hux’ entering the office but Hux could tell from the stiffening of his spine that Solo knew who had just come in.

“Mr Hux,” Snoke said. “You’re difficult to get hold of. Please sit.” He gestured towards the second chair.

Hux returned the greeting and sat down next to Solo who only then turned his dark eyes towards him and acknowledged his presence with a curt nod. His mouth was set in a mulish expression and Hux wondered what that was about. He nodded back and turned his attention back to Snoke.

“You could have reached me on my mobile at any time,” he said in reply to Snoke’s remark. “Ms Senner has my number. I was visiting the Green Needle site to see how it’s progressing.”

“You could have consulted Mr Dameron instead of wasting your valuable time,” Snoke said. “Unless you have nothing else to do?”

“Oh, I am busy, sir,” Hux replied. “But I prefer to see for myself. It usually helps during pitching sessions, having seen the site with my own eyes. Makes it easier to communicate the details to potential investors.”

“How very laudable,” Snoke said. “Speaking of pitches, I would like the two of you to make a combined appearance during the entire MIPIM week.”

Hux frowned.

“But sir, I have already begun pulling my appointments together. My schedule is filling up and there’s hardly any room left—”

“Then make room,” Snoke cut him off. “I have asked Mr Solo to do the same. I expect the architect and the responsible portfolio manager to work as one when it comes to presenting the Green Needle to the market.”

“The MIPIM is about four weeks away,” Hux pointed out. “Ticket prices will have gone up and I doubt there’ll be reasonable accommodation to be had.”

Snoke waved his hand dismissively.

“I will not be attending this year,” he said. “I have personal matters to look into. It’s already been arranged. Mr Solo will take my ticket and Ms Senner has cancelled your hotel room,” he nodded towards Hux, “and has booked both of you into my apartment.”

“What?” said Hux, horrified.

“No way,” Solo blurted out, at the same time. “I’m not sharing an apartment with him. I’ll find a hotel at Nice airport and just drive into Cannes.”

“You will do no such thing,” Snoke said, icily. “You will do exactly as told.”

Solo took a deep breath and Hux steeled himself. If Solo were to throw one of his infamous temper tantrums—not that Hux had ever actually witnessed one but he had heard plenty of rumours—this would not go down well here. Not at all.

“Quiet, Ben.”

Snoke had mastered the art of shouting without raising his voice and he applied it masterfully now. Solo almost flinched, his breath leaving him as if punched in the stomach. It made Hux wince inwardly. What on earth did Snoke have on Solo to be able to treat him like that? It was like watching some animal abuser taking the whip to a mustang, to break it to his will, and Hux wished he didn’t have to witness this, wished to grab the old man’s wrist and yank the whip out of his hand.

“The apartment has two bedrooms,” Snoke calmly continued. “You two will have enough room to make sure you won’t get in each other’s way if you don’t want to. There’s wifi, there’s a big enough table to set up two working spaces and each of you will have his own key so you don’t have to leave and return together if that will make it easier and more agreeable. I don’t expect you to bond and become best friends, but you will work together to make this a success. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” said Hux. Solo grunted.

“That’s settled, then,” Snoke said, satisfied. “Mr Hux, I believe travel management has already booked your flights?”

Hux nodded.

“Flying in on Monday morning, flying out on Thursday afternoon,” he said. “I have received my registration confirmation, too.”

“Good. Ben, how about yours?”

“I will be flying in from Shanghai on Monday,” Solo said. “I have committments I cannot postpone. And will not postpone,” he added when Snoke looked sharply at him. “My hotel project is entering a critical stage and I must be present for the next three weeks. That means I won’t be available for spontaneous meetings but I can do phone conferences or Skype in when needed.”

Snoke inclined his head.

“Understood,” he said. “I am aware of your on-going projects elsewhere. But how about that other…thing of yours? Didn’t you say you’d be in Waidton for one of these events? The week before MIPIM, if I recall correctly?”

“Uhm, yes,” Solo said, hesitantly. “I will be. It’ll be a brief interruption of my Shanghai stay, two days at the most.”

“Will that not take your attention away from the Leaping Dragon project?”

“No, sir, it will not.”

Solo’s voice sounded flat and Hux shot him a glance. Solo had his hands on his thighs, fingers digging into his flesh, knuckles white. What on earth were they talking about? It had to be something Snoke didn’t approve of, that much was certain.

“It better not.”

Definitely something Snoke didn’t approve of. Had Solo run into some kind of trouble and Snoke knew about it? Did he have some pressure point on him? What if—

Hux’ train of thought was interrupted when Snoke’s phone rang. The CEO looked at the display and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, but I have to take this.” He waved his hand at them as if shooing them away, then picked up the receiver. “Good afternoon, Seth,” he said in a pleasant voice. “No, not at all. I was having a talk with two of my staff but they’are about to leave.”

Hux and Solo both stood up from their chairs. Solo grabbed his jacket and bag, and they left Snoke’s office in long strides without looking at each other. He closed the door behind them and they walked in silence until they reached the reception area. Hux was acutely aware of the man next to him. It was hard not to be. Apart from his sheer physical size, Solo radiated rage and heat that seemed to seep from each and every pore. It was like being next to a boiler that was about to explode.

“Well,” Hux said in an effort to break the silence, “I guess I’ll better start replanning my schedule. Do you, uh, want to get together to discuss whom we should meet?”

Solo shrugged.

“I don’t know what investors you usually work with. Why don’t you send a list to my office. I’ll see if I can think of anybody who may be helpful along the way and have the names sent to you.”

“Send a list to your _office_?” Hux asked, incredulous. “Have the names sent to me? You don’t think I’m worthy being talked to directly?”

“I’m not sure how you want this played,” Solo said, his voice as flat as it had been at Snoke’s office. “I’ve not picked any signals up yet.”

“And how could you?” Hux felt his temper flare up but he kept his voice even, aware of their surroundings. There was a steady stream of people coming and going, and Hux didn’t want to entertain an audience. “You can’t get away quick enough. I don’t think we’ve spoken one personal word since the start of this project. What do you expect me to do, flash the bat signal for you?”

“The—oh.” Solo gave a reluctant grin. “Yes, that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I’ll have it installed on the roof of this building, then.” Hux returned the grin, despite himself, and took his business card holder out of his inside pocket. He snapped the slim case open and offered one of his cards to Solo who took it. “Give me a call when you have time, Ben, and we’ll go over everything.”

Solo nodded, fished in one of his pockets and handed Hux one of his cards in return.

“The first number is my office number,” he explained. “It usually goes through to my cell unless I tell Dopheld—my assistant, Dopheld Mitaka—to handle all incoming phone calls. Like when I’m in meetings or doing…things.”

There was the tiniest of pauses which Hux did not fail to notice. ‘Things’ as in, stuff Snoke disapproved of?

“My cell number is on the back of the card,” Solo continued. “Not everyone gets to have it.” He grinned again. “So to answer your question, Armitage, I do think you’re worthy of my time.”

“Still?” It was out before Hux could stop himself.

Solo’s dark eyes were unreadable. Instead of answering, however, he put on his jacket, zipped it up, shouldered his messenger bag and walked over to the receptionist, telling her something Hux didn’t understand. The young woman nodded, went to the wardrobe and took out a helmet which she handed to Solo. He thanked her, took the helmet and returned to Hux who still stood by the doors, waiting for a reply he wasn’t certain he would receive.

Their eyes met, and they held each other’s gaze for what seemed like a very long time. Then the doors opened to let a visitor in, and the spell was broken.

“Still,” Solo said and was through the doors before his reply registered with Hux.

Hux blinked and stepped back. He noticed the receptionist was giving him a curious glance and he made a comical face.

“There he goes, our star. Funny bunch, these artists, eh. You need kid gloves for their egos.”

He gave her a friendly nod and hurried back to his office before she had a chance to see the wide grin spreading on his face.

‘ _Still_.’


	6. Chapter 6

The match was going exactly as planned. Kylo Ren stood on the ring’s top rope, bouncing lightly to gain momentum for the massive leg drop that was to follow and slowly raised his arms, giving the fans in the audience time to snap photos to their hearts’ content. He enjoyed performing at Wenfield Halls, it was a great venue with enough seats for a good crowd that provided all necessary equipment to supply sounds, lights and everything else needed to turn a good show into a great spectacle.

Through the visor of his helmet, his eyes searched for and quickly landed on the spectator who sat in his usual spot (third row, fourth seat from the barrier), dressed in his usual non-descript hoodie, wearing his aviator glasses and a beanie.

Again, Kylo Ren wondered whom he reminded him of. There was something vaguely familiar to the man, something that had Kylo Ren puzzled since the first time he had spotted him. It was as if he had seen him before, on another occasion and in another context. It was too bad he couldn’t see him very clearly through the visor but he simply couldn’t run the risk of following him outside. His matches usually were amongst the last and he was still in costume by the time the spectator left. Maybe today he would stay until the end…maybe he would even join the Meet’n’Greet event but Kylo Ren doubted it. The spectator never stayed until the very end of a show, he tended to slip out just before the final rounds of applause died down. If only—

Lost in his thoughts for a mere couple of seconds, he didn’t notice a third athlete running up from behind, didn’t see him jump up to reach for the top rope on which Kylo Ren stood. The man yanked. Hard.

Kylo Ren lost his balance, swayed and fell off the rope but with a cat’s reflexes managed to turn mid-fall, stretched…

…and _reached_ for the fabric that held him in place. It was as natural to him as breathing although he could not have explained exactly how it worked. To him, the energy fields that surrounded every living being on this planet were as clearly visible and tangible as anything else, something right there before him to hold on to, to bend to his will, to keep him stable and in balance—if only physically—enabling him to do things that were impossible for others.

And so he stretched and turned his fall into a jump to floor his stunned opponent with a massive drop-kick that had not been choreographed.

But neither had the attack from behind and it would not go unpunished.

Kylo Ren leapt back to his feet the moment he landed on his back. That was another of his trademark moves, that quick flip back to his feet, something not many athletes of his size were able to pull off. The Rock had been one of them but even he hadn’t been so quick.

The crowd roared with applause.

With a few long strides he reached the ropes and flung himself over and towards his attacker who had misjudged Kylo Ren’s lightning-quick reflexes and so had lost a couple of precious seconds. Exactly as Kylo Ren before the cowardly attack. The other man grunted in surprise when the masked athlete’s full weight landed on him and he was still too dazed to react when Kylo Ren lifted him up, flipped him around and treated him to a beautifully executed ‘Kyle-Driver’.

Hundreds of mobile phones turned towards him, a few cameras, too. Not all had remembered to deactivate the flash but while the helmet did have its disadvantages, it certainly protected his eyes. Kylo Ren stood up, unfazed by the flurry of flashes, and turned back to the ring, leaving the attacker lying panting and defeated.

He jumped back into the ring where his green-clad opponent —appropriately named ‘The Frog’—had retreated into a corner.

Kylo Ren pointed at him, then slowly gestured with his thumb across his throat, an unmistakable announcement of what was to come. It would not go as agreed upon; he never used his preferred finishing move more than once in a match. Besides, the little cheat deserved a lesson in spontaneity. It was time to find out if he took as well as he dished out.

Kylo Ren lifted his arms in a gesture of, ‘Well? What do you plan to do now?’

The man in green gave a roar and shot across the ring, bounced into the opposite ropes and hurled himself towards Kylo Ren, arms spread, ready to spear him. What he hurled himself into, however, was not Kylo Ren’s midriff but his outstretched hand. He gave a yelp as he was lifted up with one arm as if he weighed little more than a rag doll. Which he didn’t, for Kylo Ren was dipping into his energy source once more. That, and the momentum of the Frog’s onslaught prevented any real danger to his physical health, but his pride and his ring-side reputation would certainly suffer. A choke-slam was never a pleasant experience, at least not for the one at the receiving end, and Kylo Ren knew how to make it look as if he was disposing of a bag of stinking litter.

He slammed his opponent into the padded floor with the exact angle to produce a thunder-like _BOOM_ , and to add insult to the pain, he placed his heavy boot across the man’s throat. Then he signalled for one of the ring officials to hand him a microphone and the young man was quick to obey. It did not do to keep the masked champion waiting. Kylo Ren’s short temper was well-known.

“I had no idea you’re such a worthless little cheat,” Kylo Ren told the man on the floor. “Comfortable?”

He moved his foot a little, as if snuffing out a cigarette. He didn’t apply any pressure, obviously, but to the audience it looked as if he did.

“You know I can take whatever I want. Be grateful that tonight I’m only taking your dignity. Go behind my back once more and I will show you the true power of the dark side.”

He let the microphone drop, removed his foot from the man’s throat and waited for the ring announcer to proclaim the outcome of the match.

Victory for Kylo Ren by disqualification of the Frog. As expected.

He accepted his championship belt from another ring official. He lifted it high above his head and slowly turned around so every last soul in the audience got to have a look at the still reigning champion.

When he faced the side where the spectator sat, he lowered his arms and slowly, slowly fastened the belt around his waist. His eyes never left the face of the man whose eyes behind his reflecting sunglasses were fixed on him too. Kylo Ren gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head and the spectator nodded back, the tiniest of smiles curving his mouth.

Funny how Kylo Ren was able to see that smile quite clearly, and even funnier how he was still unable to recognise him. Infuriating.

He left the ring by somersaulting across the rope, unable to resist the urge to show off for his spectator, taking full advantage of his gift. His return to the exit/entrance was accompanied by thundering applause, his fans reaching across the barriers in the hope of touching their idol. He strode past them without recognising their presence, as was his custom. Precisely as they expected from him. Precisely as he preferred it.

Tonight’s Meet’n’Greet was going to be hellish, but he owed it to his fans. In one of his rare official statements he had called them his ‘troopers’ and the name had stuck, had eagerly been snatched up and now he had his own army of troopers instead of mere fans. And it was impossible to let his troopers down, no matter how much he hated mingling and posing for photographs.

He hid behind the heavy curtain and peeped out from behind. It was as he had feared: the spectator was squeezing through the rows of seats and made for the exit.

_Damn._

The spectator hurried for the exit, his heart hammering in his chest all the way to his car.

Kylo Ren had acknowledged his presence, had even greeted him with a nod. Well, theoretically the brief gesture could have been intended for just about anyone, but the spectator didn’t think so. It had felt as if there had been some kind of connection, like a gossamer strand thrown in his direction.

He removed his beanie and sunglasses, smoothed his hair, then laughed out loud when he saw his reflection in the rear mirror. His cheeks had turned pink and his eyes held a sparkle like those of a star-struck teenage girl.

It wasn’t as if Kylo Ren was the first professional wrestler he had admired. Brett ‘The Hitman’ Hart, Curt ‘Mr Perfect’ Hennig, the Undertaker, the Rock…he had cheered them on whenever he had had the chance, either in front of the telly or before the ring, whenever the world’s biggest wrestling league toured the UK. For a while, he had even nursed a crush on the Edge, the tall, blond, long-haired Canadian. But no-one had ever spurred his fantasy on like this masked champion who constantly defied gravity with each of his spectacular manoeuvres.

Like, how on earth had he managed to not fall off the ropes when the Frog’s unofficial tag team partner had tried to attack him from behind? How did a man of his size turn mid-air like a cat? And that somersault over the ropes when his match was over? Abso-bloody-lutely brilliant. He hadn’t even stumbled, had landed on his feet sure as, well, yeah, a giant cat, and had sauntered off as if nothing had happened.

And there was another thing gnawing at the spectator’s mind: there was something in Kylo Ren’s behaviour that reminded him of somebody. Somebody he knew, or had known, he wasn’t sure. It was in the way he held himself, the way he gestured, the way he leaned into the ropes when pretending he wasn’t paying attention…but try as he might, he couldn’t put his finger to it, couldn’t figure out whom the wrestler made him think of.

And it was beginning to drive him insane.

He gave a deep sigh, smoothed over his hair once more, started the engine and drove off.


End file.
